


All In Good Time

by MidnightGardener



Series: The Riga Safe House [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Astronomy, Candles, Latvia - Freeform, M/M, Memories, Pining, Slow Dancing, Temper Tantrums, joe is soft, nicky is tired, they’re still at the Riga safe house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26893870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightGardener/pseuds/MidnightGardener
Summary: Nicky has to go away, and Joe doesn’t like it... that’s it really.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: The Riga Safe House [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962133
Comments: 25
Kudos: 149





	All In Good Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ournextdoorneighbor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ournextdoorneighbor/gifts).



> This was from a prompt from ournextdoorneighbor on the All & More Discord server, who was after a slow dance fic. It kind of morphed as I wrote, and took on a goddamn mind of its own!! So darling Neighbor, I hope this still fits the bill!
> 
> Further notes at the end!

It’s rare that Joe and Nicky are apart for more than a couple of days maximum. Usually it’s due to an unavoidable strategic situation. Or they’ve been separated by a melee that’s large enough to see them caught up on opposite sides of a city. They inevitably end up winding their way ‘home’ (wherever that may be at the time), and whoever gets there first will wait impatiently for the other to arrive. In the past this had been to the annoyance of Andy and Booker, who would become irritated by the constant pacing, fretting, hand wringing and general unease from either Nicky or Joe.

This time though the separation had been a necessity. A women’s shelter run by a small Catholic parish in Hrodna had been held to ransom by a local crime syndicate. It wasa small job, with no financial benefit, which certainly didn’t bother any of them. Nicky had read a small article in a daily newspaper about the ongoing struggle for the shelter, and told Andy he believed they should help. Andy had readily agreed, and determined the less of a male presence at the shelter, the better. Given this job was Nicky’s find, and he his affinity for providing pastoral care in the situation, Andy had decided that he was the best to accompany her and Nile to Belarus. 

Joe however, was to stay in Latvia in their Riga safe house. He would provide remote support if required, but otherwise was to stay put unless called upon.

Andy had eyed him sternly on the day the trio left. 

“Joe, we need you here. If things go to shit, we need to know we can rely on you to get us out of trouble.”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever.” Joe knew he sounded like a spoilt brat, muttering under his breath as he packed Nicky’s favourite protein bars into his rucksack. He’d been vocally disappointed since being directed to stay at home.

“Joe,” Nicky had said quietly as Joe stomped around the kitchen.

Joe had ignored him initially, yanking a cupboard door open and rummaged around for Nicky’s chai tea bags. They were tossed into the bag.

“Joe.” Nicky repeated himself.

The chai tea bags were joined by a packet of ….

“Yusuf!”

This time Joe stopped, his hand curled around a bag of the Dutch salted liquorice that Nicky had a weakness for. His fist tightened around the plastic, and it crinkled slowly, violently in his grip. Nicky reached up and very gently prised the candy from Joe’s fingers, and replaced it with his own hand, interlacing their fingers.

Nicky stepped closer, until their toes were touching and he’d leant his forehead against Joe’s. He rubbed his thumb against the back of Joe’s hand.

“Yusuf,  _ stai calmo _ .” 

Joe slumped and allowed Nicky to gather him gently in his arms.

“I”m sorry, Habibi,” he whispered. “I’m being childish.”

Nicky’s nose nuzzled into Joe’s hairline, and he kissed him softly behind his ear.

“I will be home soon.”

Joe sighed, somewhat dramatically, “I will miss you, my heart.”

“As I will miss you.” Nicky murmured into his curls.

“Every day I willl draw you. A sketch a day of my Nicolo.”

A laugh. “And how is that different to any other day?”

Joe pulled back and pouted, somehow digging deep for an even more dramatic look.

Nicky laughed again and landed a peck on Joe’s lips, “Always with the drama, amore mio. I look forward to seeing the sketches on my return.”

In response Joe chased Nicky’s lips to seek a deeper, more passionate embrace. It’s how Andy found them on he return to the kitchen, and had to resort to stomping her booted heel on the floor sharply to bring them back to the here and now. Even then, it took them a full 10 seconds to disengage slowly.

“Honestly! Do I have to turn the hose on you both?”

Without taking his eyes from Joe, Nicky responded with just the hint of a cheeky smile, “I am quite prepared to get wet for my Yusuf.”

Andy snorted and rolled her eyes, “Oh PLEASE!”

And so it is how Joe comes to be watching his Nicky leave in a BMW sedan, laden down with two of the deadliest women on the planet, and an armoury enough to furnish a small army. He presses his nose against the lounge room window, his breath leaving its mark on the cold glass. In response he can see Nicky’s hand against the car window from the back seat, fingers moving ever so slightly to gesture a small wave. Joe wiggles his fingers back and watches the car pull away.

Turning from the window only once the vehicle is out of sight, Joe sighs heavily and prepares for his time sans-Nicolo. It’s a penance he hasn’t earnt, and although it’s hardly the first time he’s been alone for more than a couple of hours at a time, he does feel a profound sense of loss.

“My heart is cast adrift, beyond the shore. Beyond my reach!” Joe announces dramatically to the empty room before him.

There’s no response, just the steady ticking of the 19th century gilded French carriage clock on the mantelpiece. 

Joe sighs, and moves the heavy velvet drape back over the window. He picks up the sketch book that lays on the ornate oak coffee table, flops down into an overstuffed armchair and flicks through endless pages of Nicolo Di Genova. It’s the closest he’s going to get to the real thing for a while.

XxxxxxX

In the end the time passes quicker for Joe than he expected. It’s barely 3 weeks, and to an immortal being, this passage of time is barely the blink of an eye. Also, Joe keeps busy.

He’s repaired a couple of the kitchen cabinet doors that weren’t closing properly. The small garden at the back has been weeded, lawn mowed and he’s even planted out some geraniums in pots by the front door. Joe figures that even at the infrequency they spend at safe houses, the geraniums should be able to fend for themselves. He’s helped an elderly neighbour repair a broken front gate, and graciously accepted some homemade Kliņģeris as payment. 

He’s made friends with a grey and white stray cat, and often spends the last light of the evening sitting on the doorstep feeding her leftover chicken. He calls her Samira, and once her belly is full and she’s curled up on his lap, he tells her stories of his and Nicky’s many adventures over the centuries.

The sketchbook has been filled with his ‘Nicolo A Day’ pledge. (Which quickly became several Nicolos A Day.) And it is at the end of a day where Joe realises he is on the last 2 pages of his current book, and needs to buy another pack of charcoal pencils, that his family return.

Joe and Samira are sitting quietly on the front step, basking in the last golden rays of the sunset. He’s absently petting the cat’s soft fur, humming an ancient lullaby from his childhood as he daydreams Nicky striding towards him, hair slightly ruffled, a whimsical smile on his lips. Suddenly, Nicky really is striding towards him looking ruffled (and quite tired), but the whimsical smile splits into a larger grin as he gets closer to Joe.

Moving the sleepily protesting Samira off his lap, Joe launches himself off of the porch steps and propels himself towards his Nicolo, his heart, his life, his everything and more. They hit each other with such force that they would rebound off the other, if they didn’t immediately cling to each other with intense ferocity and absorb the others energy.

“HABIBI!” Joe exclaims at the same time Nicky wearily sobs, “AMORE MIO!”

They cling to each other, Joe running his hands over Nicky’s body both to reacquaint himself with his form and more surreptitiously to confirm he is entirely whole and uninjured. Nicky has his fingers plunged into Joe’s curls, face buried in his shoulder.

Joe continues to whisper their private, unique blended language; affirmations of love and gratitude that Nicky has returned back to him safe. He takes Nicky’s face in his hands, and kisses him all over finishing by bringing their lips together to linger and savour.

Distantly and oh-so far away, Joe can hear Nile’s voice asking, “Is this what always happens?”

And Andy’s just as distant response, “Just be glad you weren’t there in Malta when they reunited a year after Joe was accidentally caught up in the enslavement of Gozo.”

“The enslavement of what now?”

As if in a dream, Joe helps unload the car and stow equipment away safely. He reheats the frozen meals he had cooked the first night he was alone, and ensures his family is fed. All the while he never takes his eyes off of Nicky, ensuring he stays within arms reach at all times.

After dinner Andy retires to her room with a bottle of scotch. Nile showers then curls up on the couch with her earbuds in. Nicky takes his turn in the bathroom, and as much as Joe aches to join him he knows to give Nicky his space, allowing him to decompress and relax into this downtime. Instead, Joe goes about preparing the bedroom.

A handful of hand rolled beeswax candles that Joe picked up at the local farmer’s market are lit, and he has pulled back the curtains of the large window throwing the sash up to let in a faint breeze drift in off the gulf. The sky is clear, with stars peppering the deep indigo sky like someone has cast out a handful of glitter. Joe stands hands clasped behind his back, staring up at them. He feels an affinity with the night sky. So much has changed in the hundreds years of his existence, yet the stars remain as steadfast as ever. Their lifespans are beyond the comprehension of most humans, changes occurring over millenia rather than in the blink of an eye.

“Arneb,” he whispers quietly to himself, picking out one of the brighter stars. It reminds him of lying in the desert with Nicky, teaching him Arabic astronomy, hands brushing against each other as Joe helped him to point out constellations. 

“Star gazing again, amore mio?”

Joe feels arms glide around his waist, and a nose gently nuzzle against the nape of his neck. He turns, and brings his own arms to rest lazily over Nicky’s shoulders.

“I’d much rather gaze at you,” Joe kisses the tip of that nose. Then he turns his attention to the mouth beneath it, enveloping those soft lips with his own, tongues gently stroking against one another.

Eventually they pull apart to catch their breath, foreheads resting gently against each other. Joe peers through his thick, dark lashes into the wide, silvery-grey eyes he loves and knows so well. The low light has Nicky’s pupils blown, and with the reflection of the candles burning on the dresser behind Joe, it looks as if the deep night sky resides within those captivating eyes. 

As much as Joe would love to take his time undressing, and unravelling this beautiful man, he knows that tonight Nicky will want to keep it sweet and low key. He’s tired, and wants nothing more but to be as close as possible to his adoring husband. His life.

Joe knows what Nicky will want.

Slowly, and at first barely moving, Joe begins to sway from side-to side. He keeps his arms around Nicky’s shoulders, foreheads meeting again. Nicky tightens his grasp around Joe’s waist so their bodies are flush against each other. Warmth from his recent shower radiates off of Nicky’s body, and envelops Joe making his toes blissfully curl. The rich scent of the beeswax candles mixes with the sandalwood from Nicky’s soap, making for a heady incense that wraps around the dancing couple like a perfumed cocoon. Joe feels transported to another time, another place. When things felt simpler, and less frantic. When it was just Yusuf and Nicolo, beneath a starry sky.

Nicky has tucked his head into the crook of Joe’s neck.

“Sing to me, Yusuf.” His voice is sleepy, lips grazing Joe’s throat.

Joe can never deny his Nicolo, and so very quietly as nothing more than a low rumble in his chest, he begins to sing.

Their slow dance naturally synchronises in time with Joe’s song. It’s an ancient melody, lost to time and remembered only by Yusuf Al-Kaysani alone. He murmurs the lyrics into Nicky’s soft hair, and where there are no lyrics he hums to keep time.

Slowly, Nicky’s body weight becomes heavier and heavier in Joe’s arms. His hands are slipping down Joe’s hips and his head lolls onto his shoulder. So gradually Joe, still singing softly, dances them over towards their bed, where he has already turned down the covers.

“Nicolo.” Joe whispers quietly.

There’s a sleepy mumble in response, but no movement.

“Nicolo,” Joe repeats. “ _ Andiamo a letto.” _

Nicky snuffles into Joe’s neck.  _ “ _ Mmmm, _ si.” _

A wave of adoration for the man wrapped around him, washes over Joe. No matter how many hundreds of years pass, he will never grow tired of simply everything that Nicky does. Joe presses his lips to Nicky’s temple, and slowly lowers him down onto the sheets rolling his body ever so gently onto his side. Instinctively Nicky shuffles across the mattress to leave room for Joe.

Joe quietly pads over to extinguish the candles, lower the window slightly and draw the curtains across. Then he returns to the bed. He removes his jeans and gingerly lowers himself onto the mattress so as not to disturb Nicky. He pulls the covers up over them both, and carefully slides his arms around the slumbering Italian slotting his knee in between Nicky’s thighs. In response, Nicky snuggles backwards mumbling incoherently, tightening a grip on Joe’s forearm.

“ _Ti amo,_ Habibi.” Joe breathes. “And I’m glad you’re home.”

**Author's Note:**

> (As a Post Script: When they leave the Riga safe house, Joe ensures that their elderly neighbour adopts Samira so that she continues to be well looked after. Just in case you were worried about what happened to her… because I would be.)
> 
> **Italian to English Translations**  
>  Stai calmo = Keep calm  
> Andiamo a letto = Let’s go to bed.  
> Ti amo = I love you
> 
> **Gozo**  
>  The Island of Gozo is situated off the coast of Malta.  
> In 1551, it was invaded by Ottomans with most of the population enslaved and shipped off to North Africa.  
> How Joe was caught up in this I’m not entirely sure… but it sounds like there’s another fic in that…..
> 
> **Astronomy**  
>  Arneb or Alpha Leporis, is the brightest star in the constellation of Lepus.  
> Both Arneb and Lepus mean ‘The Hare’ in Arabic and Latin, respectively. Lepus is the prey of Orion, and sits just below that constellation in the Northern Sky.  
> Arneb is expected to go supernova in the next million years.
> 
> **Music**  
>  The lullaby Joe sings to Samira is “Nami Nami” which is a traditional lullaby from The Maghreb. I believe it’s still a popular lullaby in this region.  
> There’s no specific traditional song I had in mind when Joe was singing to Nicky, but I was listening to the namesake of this fic, All In Good Time by Dead Can Dance, on repeat. And in lieu of an actual traditional song, I think it would fill in nicely.  
> You can listen to it [here](https://youtu.be/B5J7GfzGBd8).


End file.
